That Thing on Your Face
by Stephane Richer
Summary: Atsushi's purple hair, which has been in need of a trim for some time, cascades past his shoulders in an unkempt mess. His jaw is covered in several days' worth of beard growth. Somehow, it brings to mind some sort of gigantic psychedelic Jesus.


That Thing On Your Face

Disclaimer: Don't own_._

Author's Note: I am not funny and I deeply apologize for it.

* * *

Midorima stands in the doorway, momentarily silenced by the sight in front of him. Oha-Asa had said that Cancers would face an especially trying issue in their love lives today, and the meaning of that statement has now become very clear to Midorima. Atsushi's purple hair, which has been in need of a trim for some time, cascades past his shoulders in an unkempt mess. His jaw is covered in several days' worth of beard growth. Somehow, it brings to mind some sort of gigantic psychedelic Jesus.

"Atsushi," Midorima says with a look of surprised disgust, "What the hell?"

"Eh?" Atsushi blinks and scratches his chin. "Yeah, it's kind of itchy. But I was talking to Fuku-chin the other day and he said the girls would all give me sweets if I grew a beard."

Why the hell Atsushi keeps in touch with his manipulative former senpai is more than beyond Midorima. "And you believed him." He's surprised there isn't food caught in the damn thing, what with the careless way Atsushi eats, although he does need to update his prescription as his vision's gotten worse, so perhaps he's just not seeing it.

Atsushi blinks and nods. As Midorima is about to retort again about how ridiculously easy to fool Atsushi is, Atsushi picks up Midorima's hand and raises it to his cheek, rubbing it against his beard. Midorima winces. It's way too rough, scratching painfully over areas that don't itch (at least his hand hasn't brushed any old food). He snatches his hand back.

"Don't do that."

Atsushi pouts, sticking out his lower lip and crossing his arms. Normally, this expression is the surefire way to break down all of Midorima's walls and make him cave in to whatever ridiculously outlandish demand Atsushi makes, but not this time. The beard gives it a really weird, creepy undertone. "That's really not cute, Atsushi," he says, but unlike every other time he's said that (there have been many of these occasions) he means it this time.

Atsushi can sense the change in his tone. Midorima's not blushing or snapping at him in an extra-loud voice the way he is when he's in denial and embarrassed; he's just got this weird look on his face. Midorima sighs and yanks on Atsushi's wrist.

"Come inside; I have a razor you can borrow."

It's rare for Midorima to willingly spoil Atsushi (although more often than he'd admit he gets suckered into it), but that beard is so atrocious and he'll do pretty much anything to get it off Atsushi, including, as it turns out, shaving the beard himself ("I don't want to shave it; shaving is so boring").

"I don't know why I'm doing this," Midorima grumbles as he runs the razor in even strokes down Atsushi's foamy cheek.

Atsushi ignores the comment. "Ah, that feels good, Shi-chin."

* * *

Midorima wipes off the sweat with a towel and sits on the bench as his phone buzzes for the umpteenth time this morning. Somehow Atsushi always seems to know when Midorima is on a break—it's as if he's psychic or something. It's another snap chat (along with two text messages from earlier, which he opens first. Both of them read _shi-chin shi-chin shi-chin shi-chin shi-chin_ and he's kind of glad he didn't have his phone on him when he was out on the court because it's annoying and a waste of his phone's memory (but he doesn't delete them).

He debates opening the photo, because it might be something embarrassing, but Atsushi's at his own school's summer training camp, so it can't be anything too terrible. So he opens it; it's a blurry shot of one of Atsushi's sneakers next to a basketball. The caption simply says _hi_.

Midorima rolls his eyes and places the phone back on the bench.

The next time he comes back, the phone vibrates again. This time, it's a picture of Atsushi shoveling brown rice into his mouth. It looks like he's trying to grow that horrible beard again. _see i am eating healthy_, says the caption.

Midorima's not quite sure how he should respond to this, or if this picture even dignifies a response. It does not, he decides, because really, that look is revolting. There's definitely a lot of rice stuck to Atsushi's new beard. Plus, he has to get back to practice now.

Right as they're breaking for lunch, Midorima's phone does not vibrate. That's only because Atsushi has already sent him yet another snap chat. He opens it up to see a picture of Atsushi next to a goofy-looking kid in shorts and a t-shirt who's probably a little shorter than Midorima. _my fave freshman matsui hes a shooting guard._

Midorima rolls his eyes again and totally doesn't feel any kind of jealousy whatsoever. It's just a picture, and this Matsui kid and Atsushi didn't appear to be too close or anything.

He's eating and listening to Takao's chatter about how much he likes where this team is going (honestly, Midorima has to agree with this—everyone has a good work ethic and attitude, and their skills mesh nicely, plus their second-year power forward has really matured a lot, even since the beginning of the school year) when again his phone vibrates.

It's a damn good thing that snap chats aren't stored permanently, because his phone would have no room for anything else otherwise. Atsushi's taken another selfie, making a sad face at the camera. _dont ignore me shi-chin send me a pic of u pls._

Takao peers over Midorima's shoulder. "Shin-chan, you're so cruel! He's totally going to dump you one of these days." And then before Midorima can react, Takao's hand swoops in, grabs the phone, and snaps a picture. "Hmm, you look angry. Oh, well." He tosses the phone back to Midorima.

"Damn it, Takao." He checks the display; the message has definitely been sent. Oh, well.

His phone buzzes. It's a regular text message. _ur not happy to see me shi-chin? _

After making sure that his phone is at least a meter away from Takao, Midorima sends a reply. _I told you not to call me that._

_ok darling_.

_I suppose I do prefer "Shi-chin" to "darling"._

_u can call me honey._

_No thanks. Shave._

* * *

The next morning, Midorima receives yet another snap chat. Atsushi's face is clean-shaven and he's frowning. _masako-chin made me shave_, says the caption. This is just the latest in the long line of times he's been grateful for the strictness of Yosen's coach.

_It suits you_, Midorima texts back.


End file.
